Pain Management - Missing Scenes from HLV
by PiercedBlueCat
Summary: This is a collection of missing scenes from His Last Vow, SPOILERT ALERT! Don't read if you haven't seen the episode! The scenes are about handling mental or physical hurt and comfort. More inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Pain Management - Chapter 1**

_This is a collection of missing scenes from His Last Vow, SPOILERT ALERT! Don't read if you haven't seen the episode! The scenes deal with Sherlock in the hospital and John at Leinster Gardens._

_There will be at least three to four chapters in the end._

_I have to admit two scenes from the episode triggered me (triggered like in PTSD). I love the episode so having it trigger me was not an option - because the next 375 times I want to watch the episode untriggered :) - I tried to work through it and this is the result!_

_Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made._

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**Part 1 - Post-OP**

Fight…

The memory of his fight to get back up the stairs shot through his memories…

He needed to fight!… He had been in an operating theater.

Fight … for John… protect John from Mary…. He needed to wake up now!

There were noises all around him. His eyes jerked open …. he was in a large room with several beds and people in OP-clothing.

Someone was next to the bed. In a long paper robe, green, mouth-cover and a bonnet. He blinked…. Where was he?

His environment cleared and the noise of busy and hurting people gained unnerving quality….

Post OP…

He had been awake briefly in the operating theater before, he remembered… the persons there had talked to him, they seemed agitated … and then put him under in a hurry. The memory felt uneasy and had an aspect of …. panic…. to real and too vulnerable.

He must be in post OP now, it was all blurred… the memories, his sight, his mind … the palace mixed with reality … …. Then the pain registered by his foggy brain… he hurt!.. It hurt as much as it did shortly after he was hit….

He needed not to fight the pain… let it pass… he knew that he needed to let it pass… but his brain was to dazed to start the mechanism again that enabled him to do so…. The figure next to him was watching him... he was in a regular bed already…. Okay, so surgery was definitely over. He tried to gulp… his mouth was dry…. it hurt to gulp…. He needed to find that mechanism he usually used to release endorphines into his bloodstream…. he had learned how to do that years ago… why wasn't he able to do it now? He knew how to start it but it didn't work….

"Sherlock?" the blurry figure touched his hand, he looked into John's eyes… it was John in the concealing outfit?…. That was good, he didn't wanted to be touched by anybody else…. unfamiliar people had touched him enough in the theater and it had been….But there was something important… He needed to tell John he was in danger…. he tried to speak, but nothing came out…. his throat was sore and it was pain to speak. He tried to grasp his sleeve, his hand was barely moving and he was clumsy. He realized he was trembling slightly.

"M'ry…" he managed a whisper… with the third try.

"Sherlock.. It's okay… you're fine…. wake up fully and we can give you something for the pain." John gently intoned.

"Ma'y…." Sherlock tried to sit up… pain jerked through him.. oh, god! it hurt!… it made him wish to loose consciousness again….but he needed to speak to John! No sleep for now! The pain kept him from sinking back into the dark… he just needed several breaths …. Wait until he would be able to open his eyes again.

Something touched is forehead… there was talking over the noises in the room… John's talking.

"Sherlock?… Are you with me?…. Don't move!… You will hurt yourself." John held him down gently.

Someone was fumbling with something on his arm.

He managed to open his eyes again, John removed his hand…. and a nurse was doing something with his IV port.

"Talk to me Sherlock… Tell me how you are?"

"W'rs M'ry?" he tried again… "Sta'way."

"Sherlock? You want me to go away?"

He shook his head, at least this couln't be misinterpreted. As long as John was with him he was not with Mary which protected him. John needed to stay with him. He wanted the nurse to leave him alone and John to stay away from Mary.

"How do you feel?"

"Shot….Wh'…. Wher's Mary?"

"Are you in pain?" The nurse asked him loudly. He ignored her.

"John… Ma'y… Mary is….Magnuss'n…" His mouth was…. and it hurts more and more to speak.

"Sherlock? Don't try to move or talk, you're throat is irritated from the tube. You had the bullet removed. It will need time but you will be fine… You will endanger your life if you move, calm down." John soothed. Sherlock could see he was really worried… he had dark circles under his eyes and seemed a bit unsteady on his feet.

"How do you feel?" the nurse repeated.

"Don't wait for his answer, he is with us, give him the painkiller." John told her, despite his pale appearance his voice was steady and professional.

"He has not yet responded."

"He has… in his way, let me do this." He held out his hand for the pump's remote, the nurse looked at the other doctor in the room who nodded and she handed the device over.

Sherlock knew what was gonna happen… he tried to reach for the remote, but pain shot through his chest, making him gasp for air.

"Sherlock, I will give you something for the pain, relax, it will be better in a minute."

"No…" Sherlock managed to moan, lifting his arm again. "No.. please…"

John looked down at him, now puzzled.

"You don't want painkillers?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Sorry, Sherlock, but this is nuts, I know how it feels to get shot and I know how much pain puts a strain on your body and interferes with healing!"

He felt sore and hurt all over, but he first needed to tell John in which danger he was.

"Why not….?"

John was always asking the right questions when it came to him feeling bad, for once he was glad for this - now that speech was difficult so manage.

"Mary…." He tried to hold out his hand to make John give him the remote. But either his hand didn't move or John ignored it.

"What is it?… You are in severe pain here and right now we need to concentrate on getting you through this."

Sherlock tried to sit up… and John pushed the remote button. Sherlock would kill himself if he'd try to get up now, the morphine would knock him out and keep him from moving.

Sherlock felt the rush of the morphine run through his body… No! John had pushed the button! How could he dose him when he was usually so sensible when it came to drugs? Doctors were odd with this. It as okay as long as they were the ones making the decision. He felt a moan escape him in frustration and knew he would be out of it soon. He tried to reach for John's hand.

"Don't…. tell … " the pain receded…. but he felt he started to float… he needed to tell John! He managed to raise his head and get a hold on John's sleeve.

"It's okay, Sherlock… Relax….. Don't move! ….. Just relax!" One of John's hands was on his shoulder, the other on his head…. John sounded agitated. "Shhh…. Just sleep…. It's okay."

He tried to fight it.. tell him!…. he blinked, took a deep breath but before he could say any more he felt his body surrender to the drug and wondered how much they had given him…. must have been quite a dose.…. His eyes closed involuntarily and the last thing he knew was John's warm hand on his.

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_A/N: Please review! _


	2. Chapter 2

**Pain Management - Chapter 2**

_This is a collection of missing scenes from His Last Vow, SPOILERT ALERT! Don't read if you haven't seen the episode! The scenes are about handling mental or physical agony and h/c._

_I have to admit two scenes from the episode triggered me (triggered like in PTSD). I love the episode so having it trigger me was not an option - because the next 375 times I want to watch the episode untriggered :) - I tried to work through it and this is the result!  
English is not my native language, but I am working on getting better! I am looking for a betareader, if anyone is interested, PM me._

_Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made._

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**Part 2 - Sherlock's room**

He was floating... the world was orange. Had Mary been in here? Or was it a dream?

He know he was hurting… a lot… it was just hidden behind some artificial barrier. He remembered the tube in his throat… but it was gone. He should hurt, shouldn't he?

Something moved.. was it Mary?… she had told him not to tell John? He blinked…. pain. Something cold touched his forehead.

He tried to open his eyes, but they were so heavy.

The cold moved over his face. It felt good…. There was someone … making noises? Or was Mary talking to him again. .. No, it was a pitiful noise… and simultaneously with it his throat hurt… it was him who made the noise….

"Sherlock?" John's voice… John was here?

"Joo'n?" his voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

"Sherlock?… open your eyes." He did, it was work. John was there, normal clothes. They were in a room, no post-OP, no ICU, a normal room… so better and on the mend.

He blinked and tried to swallow.

"You want something do drink?" John asked. He nodded. "I can't raise your head so you need to use a straw for now."

Sherlock felt the plastic touch his lips and opened his mouth… the world was blurred and dark… it was still night? How long had he been here? He tried so suck on the thing but it took several tries before he managed to get some of the water into his mouth. Feeling this helpless and weak was disgusting….. uh, he realized there must be another disgusting thing under the uncomfortable itchy blanket. He hissed with indignation.

"You were agitated when resurfacing right after the operation in the post-OP, they brought me in to calm you down. You remember that?"

He didn't.

"You tried to tell me something, you remember that?" John asked.

Of course he remembered that! None could forget something this important… but he was mixed up, wasn't he?….. Not sure about what he remembered and what not.

He didn't know what to think… had Mary really been in here? If she had why did she tell him not to tell John? Was he too confused? Had it really been Mary who shot him? His memory about _that_ fact was quite clear… all that followed was a mixture of …. his mind at work, but he didn't know where it stopped and what was from his mind palace and what was from what he had seen in reality…. his head was really messed up… had Mycroft been here? Had Mary been in here or was it a thought process that had used her image as an aspect of his mind?

"Sherlock?"… John removed the straw and leaned over him. "You know you were talking about my wife?….."

Sherlock just stared at him. John looked bad…. glad John was here… it felt different to hurt and have him near…. He had felt the contrast this time…. to be in severe pain and alone felt different…. After the torture he had felt bad, too, this was much worse… considering the physical pain….. but John was here… and it made an aspect of the hurt change…. for the better?… Definitely!

Was this what was called comforting?… he was grateful John still stick to him…. He didn't deserve it after the pain he had caused John…. John's pain… it would skyrocket when he learns that Mary had shot him… it would cause so much more pain… was it a good idea to tell him now?… when he himself was not able to soften the fall?… and he was not able to think clearly? Maybe he was wrong? He needed a clear moment to think about how to proceed and what was tactically right before telling John?…. definitely….

"Sherlock? I really hope you weren't dreaming about my wife inappropriately!"

Sherlock could hear in John's voice he was trying to joke about the thing…. but in fact… he had dreamt about her… or had she been in here for real?

"You remember she visited you an hour ago? … She was worried, too."

So she had in fact been in here! No dream, then.

"I… hm… I …. She…"

"Yes?" John looked at him, smiling fondly. Sherlock looked around the room to make sure she was not here any longer.

"Wher's she?" he managed.

"Canceling my appointments for tomorrow…. And bringing Janine home."

"Uh…. No…" he heard himself moan… he had to get a grip on this, he sounded pathetic.

"What?… I am sure your girlfriend wants to see you as soon as possible… she does not know that you faked a proposal to use her yet, but I frear she might suspects something. She has a mild concussion."

"M'not." Sherlock managed… Mary had knocked out Janine… hadn't she… had Mary …. did she do the same he did? Befriended Janine because of her position as Magnuson's PA?… Uh, double betrayal. Janine would be…. outraged…. and would strike back as he knew her… he was not eager to see her in his current condition.

"Keep 'way." He mumbled.

"You want me to keep your girlfriend out?" John frowned. "Okay… but you deserve her rage, you know that, do you?"

Sherlock nodded. "Lat'r."

"Okay, I agree. I will keep her out as long as possible… will be not able to keep Lestrade out, though."

"'kay."

"He will want to know what happened. Who did this, Sherlock?"

Sherlock just stared at him, frowning.

"Do you know who shot you?"

Sherlock gulped… how to say this?

"How are you feeling?"

"'m fine." Sherlock grunted. "Cold." He added…. His chest was bare and he felt the pads affixed onto his chest… and all the cables and tubes attached to him… he needed to get out of here…. Soon people would come in and touch him and poke and prod him…. The orange dim light was driving him nuts… no it wasn't the light.. it was it's flickering… his eyes went through the room searching for the source of the rhythmic blinking…. A fan….

"Fan… off."

"You want me to switch the fan off?" John repeated.

"Yes! … " John switched the annoying thing off.

"I wan'to go home." Sherlock whispered.

John looked surprised.

"Sherlock, you almost died, you can not move at all! You'll risk internal bleeding if you do and that might kill you… please… I can't loose you again!… It will take some time to recover from this. I will give you the details later, but for now, you are very lucky to be alive and please don't try to move for now. There is a morphine pump and a remote, you are allowed to adjust the amount yourself and the remote will release it into your bloodstream." John pointed to small green unit attached to the IV pole.

".. home…." Sherlock pressed.

"Why are you fighting the drugs now? You are in severe pain…. You need to rest, Sherlock."

Sherlock tried to lift his head and find out in how much pain he really was by carefully moving. John's eyes went wide and in alarm he grabbed both of Sherlock's shoulders and pressed down. Sherlock hissed with the pain the movements caused.

"Le'mego." He mumbled.

"Sherlock, stop moving!"

When Sherlock managed to open his eyes once more John was leaning over him, one hand still on his shoulder, he had his weight on his other hand next to his head on the pillow. He was invading his space a bit too much.

"Sherlock! DO. NOT. MOVE!" It was almost a yelling, distressed. John looked straight into his eyes, their faces not more than thirty centimeters apart, they were full of worry and he looked as if near to tears.

"Blimey. This is stupid….. I can't let you hurt yourself, I'm sorry."

Before Sherlock was able to protest John had removed his hand from his shoulder and pressed the remote button again. Only seconds later he felt the drug take over. Why the hell did John do that? He had been pissed when Sherlock had taken drugs on his own and now he was doing it himself? Where was the sense in that? Sherlock reached out and felt John take his hand, he was still leaned over him… hoovering to stop him from moving?

"You're safe … relax!"

"No…" He was not safe, Mary could come in here any time and finish the job… he again tried to fight the medication but ….the effort made his eyes water…. again reality drifted further away a few seconds later. His vision blurred…. He felt like falling and hoped the floating sensation would take over soon. This was not nice when one doesn't want it…. the last thing he needed right now would be any kind of a bad trip from this.…. His eyes had closed. No…. Hands on him…. soothed him and wiped his face with a cool washcloth. He didn't know why … only that they felt kind of safe for a moment. Then darkness took away perception and thinking.

...

Sherlock's sleep was fitful. He seemed to have bad dreams and groaned in his sleep. Sometimes his breathing got agitated and several times John got the impression he was fighting to get conscious. Twice in the early hours of the morning he managed to open his eyes for a few seconds, but John was sure he wasn't really awake, though he talked to him to go back to sleep.

John stayed at his side all night and the doctor on duty agreed to keep the medication on the lowest possible level to just keep him asleep.

He knew Sherlock hated hospitals, he had expected he would try to get out…. but not _this_ soon. Something was wrong. He had not answered his question who had shot him. He was fighting the drugs … this was so not good. He hoped Sherlock was just babbling.

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_I would really like to know what you think. Constructive criticism needed!…. Please, please review!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Pain Management - Chapter 3**

_This is a collection of missing scenes from His Last Vow  
__**SPOILERT ALERT! Don't read if you haven't seen the episode!**_

_I have to admit two scenes from the episode triggered me (triggered like in PTSD). I love the episode so having it trigger me was not an option - because the next 375 times I want to watch the episode untriggered :) - I tried to work through it and this is the result!_

_Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made._

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**Part 3 - Leinster Gardens**

John picked up the phone. "Sherlock, where the hell are you?"

"John? I…."

"How could you be so darn stupid to leave that bloody hospital like that?! Are you trying to kill yourself?!"

"John, we need to talk about something." Sherlock's voice was grave and sounded tired. John's internal alarm raised a notch.

"What is it Sherlock?…. Why did you put my armchair back?"

"Your at the flat then? Are you alone?"

"Yes and yes."

"There is a key on the mantelpiece…. You found it?"

John stood up and saw a single key lying on the mantelpiece half hidden under the skull, he fetched it.

"Yes, can you please tell me what's …."

"You need to promise me not to tell anyone where you are going! Not Mrs Hudson, not Lestrade and even more important: not Mary!"

"Sherlock, you are scare me…."

"Promise me not to tell her!"

"I promise." John was wondering why Sherlock was feeding him with little hints instead of bluntly telling him what this was about like he usually did. "Yes, I promise!"

"Leinster Gardens, 23-24, third house on the right or so."

"Sherlock, tell me what this is all about!"

"Fulfilling a vow…. Can you bring some morphine? Though I lowered the dose to a minimum the pump is empty now."

"Bloody hell Sherlock!" John muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. It was quite obvious Sherlock needed to stretch the filling of the pump and was also planning something and needed a clear mind…. Which meant he was in a lot of pain. John slipped into his jacket and grabbed his medical bag from the wardrobe. "I will try, but I can't promise. I will not do something illegal! See you in a few." He hung up and went out the door, heading for his car, his thoughts chasing each other. All the hints Sherlock had placed so carefully, they were pointing to his relationship with Mary…. No couldn't be… he doesn't want it to be… it .. it was too damn ghastly a thought. He didn't want all of this having anything to do with Mary!

And how the hell could he get Morphine? Well, maybe the easiest way was to ask at the hospital, since Sherlock was not officially checked out and he would do all he could to convince Sherlock to go back there. His chances to survive this without treatment were not good…. This was so stupid an idea, to leave the hospital like that was definitely the dumbest stunt Sherlock had ever pulled!

The doctor on duty indeed gave him a small dose in a syringe after John had convinced him that he was working on getting Sherlock back to the hospital and needed to ease the transport.

When he reached the address he was wondering how he had made it here, he had been driving without concentrating on it at all. And how had Sherlock made it here?

The building looked odd but he didn't take his time to inspect it closely. He took the key and unlocked the front door. The house was even more odd on the inside. At first he thought he was in a hallway but after a few seconds when he had a glimpse around he doubted it. A gangway to the right was filled with an antique, red leather, battered chair and something that looked like a shabby kitchenette, covered with some rubbish and dirty disposable plates. Other old pieces of furniture and some shelves filled the gangway, looking as if someone has lived here for some time. He didn't spot Sherlock so he returned to the hallway and followed it down. On it's end someone had parked a wheelchair and he spotted the IV pole with the bag and the pump on it. Another gangway was squared there, and when he looked around the corner he saw a prone figure on an old sofa. More cupboards where in that gangway, filled with lab equipment.

"Sherlock?" He whispered and stepped closer. The figure didn't move. "Sherlock?" he asked louder.

He knelt down in front of his wounded friend who now started to move. Sherlock was lying on his side wearing his coat and shoes.

"Finally." Sherlock whispered, his voice hoarse. He opened swollen red eyes. "Did you bring some meds?"

John rubbed his eyes, the gesture showed he was a bit desperate about all this.

"Sherlock?… What is this about?….. Believe me if you kill yourself by staying out of the hospital I will never ever forgive you."

"I won't stay here longer than necessary." Sherlock groaned. When he rolled onto his back and then tried to sit up, his face contorted in pain.

"Sherlock, stop! …. You need help with this, you will start bleeding again if you move like this… let me help!"

"'kay." Sherlock whispered, sinking back. The pain was indeed more than bad now, it had been very uncomfortable for hours due to the reduced dose, but now it was maddening….

"I got a small dose of morphine, no chance to get more, but you will get a new pump filling when we return to the hospital - and bring back their equipment undamaged."

John unwrapped the prepared syringe and looked for Sherlock's hand in search for the IV port, it wasn't there.

"Sherlock? What did you do with the tubes?"

"I removed the IV from my hand, all the other stuff is still where it was. I bet the central line is even stitched in place."

John gasped, now this must be uncomfortable as hell. Sherlock _was_ pale and sweating and didn't move. John reached for his wrist and took his pulse, his other hand went to his cheek to check the temp.

"God, Sherlock…. How could you …." He was worried and afraid that Sherlock would not come back to the hospital with him. Sherlock's eyes were closed and he tolerated the examination without comment. John unbuttoned his shirt. The central line was indeed untouched. Even the patches of the heart monitor were still on his chest. But these were good signs that there was a chance to get him back, if he planned to not go back there he would have removed the patches. The bandage was clean which at least meant he hadn't pulled the outward stitches.

"I will inject it into the central line…" John warned and removed the needle.

Sherlock opened his eyes and inspected the syringe. John held it up so Sherlock could see it.

"Please use only half of it, save the other half for later…. I need to be able to concentrate as much as possible."

John emptied half of the liquid into the catheter and then flushed it with saline which he took from his bag. The effect was immediate. Sherlock silently blew out air through his mouth in alleviation and John reached for his wrist again.

"John, this is gonna be really difficult, so please just listen what I have to say…."

John eyed him, dreading what might come next. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked right into his ones. There was hesitation… since when was Sherlock so…. careful?

"Mary was the one who shot me." His voice was low and grave. The words needed six seconds to sink in and John stood up and made a hasty step back.

"What?! Are you out of your mind?"

"No…. Mary was ….."

"This is absolutely nuts!…. You can't be serious!" John's voice was getting louder.

"John, I am sorry, but there is no doubt that she was the one." Did John hear sorrow in Sherlock's voice?

"Did you hit your head?" John was agitated now.

"No." Sherlock decided to let John vent for now and wait for an opportunity to speak, he slowly raised his upper body into a sitting position, not able to hide a grimace of pain.

"Why would she shoot you?"

"We will find out soon." Better not throw any theories at him right now.

"Why would she even be there?"

"I guess Magnussen was doing what he always does: he blackmailed her."

"Even if he did why would she go there then and shoot you?…. This is insane, Sherlock. Do you know what you are saying?" John's voice continued to raise.

"I know exactly what I am saying I fear."

"NO!…" John was obviously torn between trusting Sherlock and his wife. "No!….. NonoNO!"

"Calm down, John."

"Calm down?…. Calm. Down?!…. You just told me you think my wife was trying to kill you and you want me to fucking calm down?" He was yelling now.

"Ehm…. That is not what I actually think, in fact I think she was trying to safe us both."

"What?… this is getting better and better. You just said she shot you and now you're saying the opposite? Can you even remember what you said a minute ago?" John was furious now.

"Semantics."

"That's it…. we will go back to the hospital right now! Are you having a fever?" John stepped closer, a worried look temporarily replacing the disbelief and the anger.

Protection mechanism, unbelief and evasion, Sherlock concluded and endured the touch. "I am not out of my mind, and we can not go back to the hospital, we need to prepare."

"What?….. What for?" John seemed to be closing a violent tantrum.

"She will be here within the next thirty minutes." Sherlock gently informed. "Maybe you will believe it when you hear it from her mouth."

"I won't hear it because it is not true."

"John, do you really think I would make up something like this?"

"No, but I think even a genius like you could be mistaken or mislead."

"I am sorry, John." Sherlock felt his own voice shake slightly with the memory of how caught off guard he had been when he realized it was Mary and not Lady Smallwood. It had thrown him for a loop temporarily, he had been in fact so surprised he had stuttered and his blood pressure had dropped noticeable. He suspected John would feel similar now, but contrary to Sherlock the unmistakable proof was not in front of him right now. It would be a very hard hour that was ahead and Sherlock was - when he was honest with himself - anxious to do something that would not soften but harden John's fall. He needed to take all protective measures to prevent that from happening!

"You don't need to believe me right now, just help me prepare the scene, I need a dummy in that wheelchair in case anyone will shoot at me again."

"You think she will shoot you again?" John laughed kind of hysterical now.

"No, not really, but I better want to make sure if anyone shoots what might be me it isn't…. there is an old mannequin bust in the back, can you go and get it."

"I only do this because this will prove she did not do it!" John argued.

Sherlock carefully swung his legs over the edge of the sofa and buried his face in his hands, trying to hide his pain and dizziness. He pressed his lips into a thin line when he finally looked up to John. He didn't know what it was, but something made John halt his tirades. He stared at Sherlock…. not moving, just standing there.

"Oh god…. you are … really sure …. about this, aren't you?" His shoulders slumped with the insight and he blinked several times. Sherlock could feel John's hurt flow through the small space, he didn't want to add to that. For the first time in his life the truth had a feeling attached to it …. He felt like not wanting to say it… and he didn't want to say it because he feared it might hurt John. This made him more uneasy than he had anticipated. He had thought about how to try to explain it… well, that alone was already unusual. Normally he didn't plan which exact words to chose, he just explained what he thought… but this time, while waiting for John, he had tried to chose the correct words…. kind words might minimize the bad impact. But there was no kind way to tell somebody his wife was a killer. Well, he had learned to use his words more tactful since he knew John, but not to this extend, it was more like he wanted to say something and while talking an orange warning light started blinking when he was heading towards something John had marked as insensible in the past.

Now he just nodded, it was no use… as hard as it was, they had to go through this, work on this, find a solution…. his vow. Were his emotions and sensations all chaotic and distended and hypersensitive because of the meds he was taking?…

"I'm sorry." He whispered. When he was younger he had often wondered what the meaning of the verb to commiserate was…. and had stored it as something people said, a polite phrase…. But now he grasped with all his senses what it means to feel another persons misery…. John had tears in his eyes, he stood there, like a statue, overwhelmed, disoriented by the blow of the news… and obviously fighting not to let them fall. His face a rigid mask, it reminded Sherlock of another moment John had shown that face, when he realized Sherlock was standing in front of him in that restaurant he so insensitively chose to confront him with the fact that he was still alive. Top priority right now: protect John from any more pain, how could he manage that? Was that even possible? He laboured stood up, at least stand close if he couldn't offer any other comfort.

"No, this must be a mistake… I love her, this can't be…" John maundered, evading his look.

"John, she loves you, too. I am alive.. I think …. because she loves you."

"This is making no sense! What do you know about love?"

"At least that I learned to see it when it is present…. Let's not jump to conclusions now, we need to prepare for her arrival. I will try to gently confront her to find out her motives."

"Gently? How do you plan to do that? You don't even know the meaning of what you just said." Yelling again.

"John… it is essential you let me do this…. and do not interfere!… You need to promise me that you won't disrupt my dialogue with her."

"Why?…. You want me to listen from a hiding-place?"

"Yes."

"You can't be serious…."

"This is a very delicate thing … and to keep your emotions, love, and your marriage safe you need to let me do it my way."

"If she really shot you, you still want to protect our feelings for each other? .. This is insane."

"You are repeating yourself, John. We need….. to prepare. Can you …. fetch the dummy?" It was much more work to stand upright in his condition and the effort made him breathe a lot heavier than before.

"I will sit in the chair." John whispered.

"What?…. No!"

"Why not?… You do such stuff all the time."

"It might be dangerous in case I need to provoke her."

"She will not shoot…. She would never hurt anything… I am sure this is a mistake … "

"John.. ?" Sherlock stepped closer and John was forced to raise his eyes by the unexpected proximity.

He looked into Sherlock's eyes and gulped.

"What if …"

"When she shoots me thinking it is you than … that's okay, …. I can't loose you a second time and I doubt I would survive her killing you in the long term anyway, so where is the use in hiding?" his voice was hard now. The meaning of the words hit Sherlock like a punch in the face.

"I cannot…" he started, wondering if it had been a good idea to let John be present for this…. he had decided to do it because he doubted he would believe him if he hadn't heard it from her mouth himself. He felt it was work to speak. "I am not sure I would either…."

"Would either what?"

"John, we need to move, she is probably on her way…." He evaded to answer.

Forty-five minutes later Billy had arrived and was busy installing a projector somewhere. John had hid his car and helped Sherlock to create the stage. They were busy testing the light environment that would make it impossible to see who was sitting in the wheelchair from the entrance.

While testing the lights Sherlock's phone received a text, from Anderson by the sound of the alert.

"She is on her way. Anderson told her where I am." He reported after reading the text. He texted Billy to get into position.

John also took his mobile, staring at it, waiting for her to call or text him to inform him she knew where Sherlock was. He stared at it, sure it would buzz every moment.

"John, she won't tell you she knows where I am….. Can you… administer the other half of the morphine now?… " Sherlock sat down in the wheelchair, it was the nearest thing and he needed to sit for a moment.

John went and fetched the stuff like in trance.

Sherlock's expression softened when the pain ebbed away after the second injection. He took some deeper breaths and stood up.

"Sit down, I want to see how it looks."

John put the syringe aside and sat in the wheelchair. Sherlock slowly headed for the door to take a look at the scene. He returned to John's side after inspecting the lights carefully.

"Put your feet in the footrest….. Something is not right…. you look like… you." Sherlock reached for the collar of John's jacket and made it stand upright. "Sit relaxed so you don't need move because it's tiring."

"How am I supposed to relax in a situation like this?"

"Your hair is not right." Sherlock scuffled his hands though John's hair for several seconds like he used to do it with his own, creating a mess. He liked to do it because he didn't like the feeling when his hair attached to much to his skull after a while, or when it had been bent in one direction to long and needed to unwind…. or his mind needed to unwind… whatever.

"Sherlock!" John complained about the unexpectedness of the touch.

"Sorry, you needed to relax, so I thought …. this helps me unwind so it might …." Sherlock wondered if the touch had been inappropriate. "Looks more like me, now."

Another text alert could be heard from Sherlock's pocket.

"That's Billy, he must have spotted her. Thee minutes at most…. Ready?"

"No…."

Sherlock leaned down to him and rested his hands on the armrests of the chair, invading his private space again.

"He will give her a headset and I will talk to her. Don't speak and don't move!" He looked into John's eyes waiting for confirmation. Their gazes locked for a long moment and finally John nodded stiffly.

Sherlock retreated. "Okay." He vanished into the dark hallway that diverged next to the entrance and they waited for her to switch on the headset.

….

* * *

….

_A/N:_

_I would really like to know what you think. Constructive criticism needed!…. _

_Please, please review!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Pain Management - Chapter 4**

_This is a collection of missing scenes from His Last Vow, SPOILERT ALERT! Don't read if you haven't seen the episode!_

_I have to admit two scenes from the episode triggered me (triggered like in PTSD). I love the episode so having it trigger me was not an option - because the next 375 times I want to watch the episode untriggered :) - I tried to work through it and this is the result!_

_Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made._

…..

* * *

…

**Part 4 - 221b**

"Average arrival time for a London ambulance is…." Sherlock looked at his watch.

Medics rushed into the room. "Did somebody call an ambulance?"

"… eight minutes." Sherlock finished his sentence.

Their sudden appearance made John stand up and left him disoriented for a few seconds.

"Did you bring any morphine?… I asked on the phone.." Sherlock felt for his own pulse. He must have called them himself then… and he must be really bad if he actually called an ambulance himself John realized!

"We were told there was a shooting." The first paramedic said.

"There was, last week…. But I believe I am bleeding internally, my pulse is very erratic… You may need to restart my heart." He tried to stand up but lost his balance immediately. John and Mary reached for him simultaneously and caught him. "Sherlock…."

"John?… " Sherlock held onto John's shoulder with a firm and desperate grip while the medics were busy holding him upright. "John… Magnussen is all that matters, now…." his breathing was laboured and his face was covered with a sheen of sweat. "You can trust Mary…. She saved my life…." John felt Sherlock trembling.

"She shot you."

"Ehm, next message is I got… eh… " Sherlock's face contorted in pain as he sagged backwards, no longer able to hold himself upright. He moaned in pain. John and the ambulance crew guided his body backwards towards the floor. Sherlock's hands were still reached out in John's direction. It made John's chest hurt to see him collapsing, fighting the pain.

"Sherlock?… Alright…. Take him…."

They laid him flat on the ground and the medic unwrapped a oxygen mask.

Sherlock was panting and his sounds of distress made John stand still in shock. He had never heard and seen Sherlock in such agony. The fact that he couldn't mask it was a sign of how bad he really was.

In fact Sherlock had been panting for some time now, he had heard it, but he hadn't listenend…. He just had been too much occupied with his own crisis and thoughts, and had repeatedly thought: we'll deal with that in a minute, as soon as we have sorted this out, but then another this arose and he had pushed the thought to bring Sherlock back to the hospital back into the background again, and then another thing made it been delayed again. And now he hadn't listened to Sherlock's breathing for over two hours. Sherlock had put all his body's needs away for saving John's and Mary's love and now his life was in danger because of that. He had been in severe pain for some long hours and John had ignored it! He had even threatened to punch him although Sherlock had said he needed some painkillers and that was abnormal already. John had ignored Sherlock's desperation and distress and… Sherlock had showed signs of barely being able to stand, but John had ignored them.

Right now Sherlock was either in so much pain that he didn't care or to much out of it to resist the medic pulling the mask over his face.

John stood there, trying to grasp what had happened in the past few minutes. Sherlock's collapse in front of everybody threw him for a loop. He had been so focussed on his own shock… about Mary and his frustration that he had ignored Sherlock's needs at all, great doctor he was… and a great friend, too!

Sherlock must have been really bad to let people see his weakness. He had been panting since John had met him at Leinster Gardens.

One of the medics attached an oximeter to Sherlock's lax fingers. Sherlock moaned again.

John was usually able to react fast and efficient, a soldier and emergency doctor in battle needed that ability, but right now he was … slow… things happened in slow-motion around him…. He felt lost… he had deserted his best friend who was suffering for him and his relationship right now.

John knelt down beside the smaller medic when another sound of Sherlock's distress brought him back to reality. Doctor routine kicked in, finally.

"He's got a central line and there are patches for a heart monitor still on his chest." He informed.

The medic reached for Sherlock's shirt to open it and Sherlock's hand flailed through the air.

"Its okay… I'm his doctor… he is not good with being touched, let me do this…. Sherlock? You are with me?" John opened Sherlock's shirt and held out his hand for the cable of the heart-monitor the bold paramedic was already unwrapping.

"He needs something for the pain, he unhooked his morphine pump hours ago and is now in severe pain. Did you bring some?" John asked the man.

"We can't administer it without permission."

"I give you permission." John fetched his wallet and showed his license, then put on some gloves. The heartmonitor was connected and started beeping fast.

"Now!" John fetched a penlight from the bag and gently lifted Sherlock's eyelids to check his pupils. Sherlock grunted in protest.

"We need a trolley." The bold medic had turned away and spoke into his radio.

"No…" Sherlock mumbled into the mask, he obviously was still aware, though his eyes were closed.

"Sherlock, don't be ridiculous, you can't walk down to the ambulance. What about the morphine?" he spoke to the medic now, who was busy with a vial and a syringe.

"That's a good dose, won't knock him out but ease the pain." The medics was staring at him, the dose would knock a normal person out within seconds according to what he knew. "I am his doctor." John simply explained.

John took the syringe, checked it for bubbles and injected it into the central line with the skill of having done that a thousand times. He watched the display off the heart monitor for several seconds.

Sherlock lifted a shaking hand and it came to rest against the socket of John's armchair, he was blinking, his eyes half open now, the effect of the drug kicking in fast.

Sherlock had brought the comforter back in as an offer, John understood now… Sherlock wanted to let John know that he was always welcome at 221b and that he had a home here in case he wanted to. What Sherlock had done in the past days materialized more and more clearly in front of his inner eye and it was … unselfish and … self-sacrificing…. Sherlock had done a lot of such things in the past months… Was he still kind of feeling guilty for the pain his faked death had caused?… Was he doing this out of remorse or out of …. a bond of brotherly love? This was more than just friendship… and weeks ago Sherlock had not even dared to think of himself as John's best friend. John bite his lower lip to keep his own emotions bottled up when he felt tears rising in his eyes…. He needed to focus on the task at hand!

"Shh… You'll be fine, Sherlock …. Relax… no signs for heart problems." He took Sherlock's other hand and gently squeezed it. Sherlock's heartbeat slowed down a bit, he exhaled loud when the pain ebbed. "You'll be fine." John stated again, not only to soothe Sherlock, but himself, too. Sherlock's hand went limb in his and his eyes rolled back, his body relaxed into induced sleep.

John cursed, Sherlock must be really on the end of his tether and eager to escape the pain.

Another pair of medics came in and gently they loaded Sherlock onto it, wrapped him in a blanket and buckled him in. John felt a slight panic rise when he remembered the last two times he had witnessed this. He realized he was in a light shock himself and fetched his jacket. He saw Mary still standing there… she had stood there the whole time, not moving, not saying anything. He inhaled to say something but then didn't know what to say. She just stood there, watching him, her eyes were sad and afraid.

When the medics started to carry Sherlock downstairs he followed them.

"John…" Mary found her ability to talk.

"Go home. I won't come home any time soon… and stay the hell away from him!" his voice was grumpy and he didn't look at her. His life was a mess. He had failed to protect his friend in the past hours and he needed to care for him now, everything else was not important he didn't care what she did for now.

He hurried into the ambulance and seconds later it sped off.

….

* * *

….

_A/N:_

_I would really like to know what you think. Constructive criticism needed!…. _

_Please, please review!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Pain Management - Chapter 5**

_This is a collection of missing scenes from His Last Vow, SPOILERT ALERT! Don't read if you haven't seen the episode!_

_I have to admit two scenes from the episode triggered me (triggered like in PTSD). I love the episode so having it trigger me was not an option - because the next 375 times I want to watch the episode untriggered :) - I tried to work through it and this is the result!_

_I am not a native speaker so my English might be a bit bumpy sometimes, apologies for that._

_Un-beta-ed for now._

_Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands __and no profit is being made__._

…..

* * *

…

**Part 5 - The hospital again**

A monotone clicking sound woke him. Deja vue…. Orange light entered his mind, this time someone had mercifully not switched on the fan. He blinked. Back in the hospital…. He vaguely remembered arriving at the A&E. A low beeping sound was there also, but someone had turned it down to a minimum. Probably John? Where was he? Was Mary here?

He was dizzy and disoriented. They must have operated on him again, it felt exactly like last time. Though he didn't remember Post-OP… yet.

"Sherlock?" John's voice. "You're okay. Rest."

He managed to open his eyes. John was standing next to the bed, leaning into his line of sight slightly. Sherlock frowned.

"Do not ask for Mary, would you?"

Sherlock tried to focus on John's face, he blinked several times. Was that meant as a joke?

"Y…You're …. 'kay?" Sherlock managed and his throat dry rebelled.

"You're asking me that, mate, really?" John raised his eyebrows. "What exactly happened to you the past two years to make you change that much?" John leaned a bit closer.

"You…." Sherlock pressed out, licking his lips.

"Yes?…" John obviously waited for an explanation.

"No…. _You_."

"Me?… I wasn't even there…."

"'xacly….." Sherlock tried to gulp.

"God, I'm a lousy nurse…. You want some water?… " John offered him the straw and he took some careful sips.

"Thanks."

"Sherlock… I am so sorry… I should have … I was a lousy friend…. You were in pain and I … I was a dick… I am sorry! … I didn't mean to…." it poured out of John, he started pacing the room. That was the clicking noise, John pacing. "I am sorry."

"John… 'ts 'kay."

"No, it's not!" John was angry with himself, clearly. "I was only focussed on my pain and I lost sight of yours… even though you pointed it out for once…."

"John…"

"… I'm a lousy friend… and a lousy doctor….."

"Could you…." Sherlock tried to reach for the pump again.

"God, Sherlock, please forgive me….. I …."

"Y're m'friend… an' m' doctor…. An' I don'blame you…. Coul' you shut up?" Sherlock managed and John stood rooted to the spot, shutting up suddenly and looking at him intensely.

"Wh'ers Mary?" Sherlock wanted to know.

"Uh, I told you not to ask for Mary, didn't I…"

"Where's our client?" Sherlock rephrased.

"I don't know…. and for the moment… to be honest, I don't care."

John was far more action right now than Sherlock felt he was able to handle. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again the light had changed. He had slipped into sleep unintentionally. John was napping in a chair next to the bed. The pump was set on a medium flow rate and he decided it would be okay to sleep a bit more.

Noises woke him. The nurse was bringing food and it had woken John, too.

"How am I supposed to heal if they keep disturbing my rest?" Sherlock asked with closed eyes.

"Don't ask me, that is one detail of hospitals I never understood myself." John answered and smiled at the nurse.

"Well, you only get food three times a day so we want you to pay attention to this aspect of caring for your health. You can sleep all day, but only eat at the mealtimes, so sit up and enjoy your breakfast!" The nurse informed and reached for the bed's remote.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighted. "I will do that myself, thank you." He stopped her from raising the bed-head. The young woman left.

"There is not even coffee!" he complained once he had made it upright with a painful frown on his face. "How am I supposed to get better if the food makes me worse?"

John chuckled. "The absence of coffee makes you worse?"

"John, when can I go home?"

"You don't really think they will let you out of here soon after the stunt you pulled?… If I hadn't interfered they would probably have chained you to the bed to make sure you stay at least until it is safe to get up." John joked.

Sherlock threw him a doubting look.

"Okay, joking aside… you caused internal bleeding and they had to operate on you again, what do you expect after that kind of behaviour?… You made it perfectly clear that you are not able to take care of yourself."

"Well, I was busy taking care of you and your marriage." Sherlock replied.

"I know, but…."

"But what?"

"Do you realise that your life is more important to me than my marriage?"

"I… What?… You said marrying her was the most important day of your life…. "

"I did… but this does not mean the marriage is more important than you."

"I don't understand."

"I know… Just safe that information somewhere on your hard drive... Can I stay at 221b with you for a bit, I need some time to think?" John asked carefully.

"I thought I made it clear that you are always welcome at Baker Street. You don't have to ask, it is your home."

"I know you did, but… I was not a good friend lately."

"You already have been a good friend enough in the past to last for a lifetime…" Sherlock's voice was sounding logical and analysing though the meaning was warmer than John felt he deserved. "I would be delighted to have you as a temporary flatmate again."

"What… what makes you think I will…. I will return to her?"

"Eh….I … I don't know." Sherlock sniffed at the dry toast and wrinkled his nose. "When will the canteen open?"

"Sherlock, you will not leave the room… you will not even get up for the next three days!"

"God, then bring me something eatable…. Make Mrs Hudson bring some pastries and coffee!" Sherlock was unnerved.

"You really think that after yelling at her that she is useless she will bake for you?"

"Yes."

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock was probably right, she would forgive him. "I expect you to apologise."

"Yes, but please get us some coffee, now!" Sherlock whined.

John raised his eyebrows…. Not 'me', he had said 'us'. John took his wallet but stopped on the way to the door, pointing a finger at him. "You will sit there and be a compliant patient until I come back?"

Sherlock nodded, and exaggerated innocent look on his face. John rolled his eyes and went for the coffee.

...

* * *

….

_A/N:_

_I would really like to know what you think. Constructive criticism needed!…. _

_Please, please review!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Pain Management - Chapter 6**

_This is a collection of missing scenes from His Last Vow, SPOILERT ALERT! Don't read if you haven't seen the episode! _

_I am not a native speaker so my English might be a bit bumpy sometimes, apologies for that. _

_Un-beta-ed for now. _

_Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun.I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made. …_

..

* * *

…

**Part 6 – 221b again**

Twenty-four hours later John went 'home' for the first time after Sherlock's collapse at the flat. Sherlock was finally resting and he needed a break from all of it.

A few hours earlier Sherlock had convinced him to go home for the night, take a shower and get some sleep. He had waited until Sherlock was asleep and then needed more time to get himself up to leave.

John had tried to avoid the situation to get to Mary's and his flat to get some stuff. He headed to 221b and decided all he needed was there for now.

When he entered the living room it was still in a kind of disarranged state, the armchairs were in odd angles and there were wrappings lying around from when the ambulance crew had unpacked the equipment.

The medical litter made the events come back to him more clearly than he wanted. He sat down on the sofa heavily, still in his jacket. How had Sherlock been able to stand or at least sit and do his thing in a state like that?

His recovery would take some time… Months at least if all went well….God, he needed Sherlock to fully recover… not only for Sherlock's sake, but for his own as well. It was not yet clear if there would any kind of permanent damage. It had not been when Sherlock had made it through the first surgery, but after the second it was even more a possibility.

John felt his desperation bloom into light panic when he thought about how his marriage and the whole situation might have contributed to Sherlock's health damage. How could he not have seen this coming?

He felt the memory stick in his pocket, now it felt like a contaminant in the flat…. He could not think about the data it might contain right now. He stood up and he took it out, not able to endure to have it on his person for now. Sherlock's laptop was on the dining table and for a short moment he thought about switching it on and reading the documents….No, he couldn't… not yet. He threw the stick onto the chaos on the table and then stood kind of lost in the middle of the room.

The small octagon table he had knocked over in frustration last night was still lying next to the window.

He was tired, but to wired up to make a decision what to do next. He knew he should try to eat something but he couldn't, not now. He knew he should try to get some sleep, but that was impossible right now, too.

This was not the first time he was alone in the flat since Sherlock had come back from the dead, but the emptiness felt as heavy as back then when he had thought Sherlock was dead. The air felt leaden and he felt lost, almost as lost and damaged as he had back then….. Sherlock would survive this! … and he would help him in every way he could. … Sherlock would need assistance for quite some time after being released from the hospital. The silence of the room gained momentum and became almost painful… no… it was the hurting in his soul….. He needed to do something … not matter what, just distraction from it all for a bit… tidying was usually a good way to work the piled up emotions away…. It included physical movement, keeping up concentration and was not hard on concentration…. Light workout for body and soul… and another positive effect, sorting through stuff helped somehow the get feelings straight, too… and the flat would be neater after it.

His bedroom, he headed for the stairs and went up. He and Mary had slept here several times and he saw her presence in the room. It made him sick now… He fetched the bin from near the door and dumped everything that was hers into it. He cleaned the night table, the dresser and then went on to the closet.

Clothes, hand lotion, woollen socks, candy, pens.

When he realized he could even smell her perfume in the room he threw open the window and stripped the bed. The linens flew down the stairs and he bit his lips when he remembered it was almost 22:30 hours and that Mrs Hudson might be asleep already.

The room still looked different from back when he had lived here. He started putting the furniture and other items back to the positions they had been in back then… as silent as possible.

He even went back to the living room several times to fetch things that used to be in his room but had made their way down into the living room or the kitchen over the time.

Finally he returned to the living room to restore to it's former state.

He straightened the armchairs but then started running up and down the room, needing to work off some of his nervous energy. He opened and closed his fist several times.

How could he have been so blind? Sherlock was right, signs had been there. Had he been so frantically looking for love and an end of his personal emptiness after Sherlock's death that he had not wanted to see those signs on her? Had his need for harmony and companionship made him blind for the clues lying under her surface? Had he really subconsciously chosen her because of those?

That was what they both have said, hadn't they?

Anger now mixed with the sorrow of loss, anger about himself and them seeing it when he wasn't able. Had Mary even consciously used that? Did she knew who he was before they met? Did she 'arrange' their relationship? Or did she just met him, liked him, and had taken her chance?

She had looked ashamed and afraid when they left with the ambulance, though not in a broken way more in a _'yes, I did that and I am not proud of it, but I can't change it'_-way. She was tough, he knew that all along…. He had thought he knew her, but now it turned out he didn't, he was an idiot. But she had said she would do everything to protect him, hadn't she?

Had his deducing abilities died when Sherlock jumped off that roof?

No, but maybe he had kind of shut them partially down then, he remembered that. It had been to painful to do what they used to do together alone, whenever he had realized he did it he stopped. That had probably not done his patients any good… he was a lousy doctor not to have seen how badly Sherlock had needed medical attention and painkillers.

No, he had seen it but he had ignored it, which was even far worse. Sherlock could have died from their combined ignorance of his body's needs. Dammit! He knew Sherlock loved dramatic case solving.. he should have stopped him… but to be honest, he would have needed to knock Sherlock out to make him get medical attention. Sherlock would not have listened, no matter how much he would have tried to convince him…. He had knocked Sherlock out in the hospital twice already, which was not exactly standard procedure, especially since he was not Sherlock's official doctor. But he knew Sherlock and he knew he would have damaged himself back then if he hadn't interfered. This time his own distress had prevented to care for his friend.

So often after Sherlock's fall he had hated himself for not seeing the signs and help Sherlock before it had come to the suicide. Now that he knew he could not have seen them because it had not been a suicide at all. But with _this_, he should have seen the signs. He was still kind of surprised Sherlock had called the ambulance himself…. Maybe Sherlock was not really thinking about his health but also about him… he had told him that he would not manage if Sherlock died again, so maybe he had not done it out of self-preservation but for him?

Well, doesn't matter why, the important thing was he did it at all. It was also kind of a shock to see Sherlock like this, whimpering in pain… he had seen many patients being there, but Sherlock was different somehow. He was so strong on the outside, he always managed to keep his masks up when other people were around, John was the only exception, well, Mrs Hudson sometimes, too… but the mask falling when others were around and the visible weakness and panic had shaken him. They had managed so many difficult situations, but this was different.

He didn't know how, but Sherlock had changed so much… when he was honest with himself he was more afraid for Sherlock than he had even been before. He seemed… John barely dared to think it, but… he seemed more vulnerable now, somehow out of focus and more reckless with his own health. Sherlock when high had been a first in his presence… and it was more than unsettling. Was it really possible the idiot had taken drugs to lure Magnussen into thinking he was an addict? He could have faked that, for god's sake! The man had faked his own death why didn't he fake taking drugs?

These unknown threats emanating from some lurking darkness were much harder to handle than a suspect shooting at you while chasing him or her through the night.

This was all Magnussen's doing, wasn't it.

He stopped for a bit running nervously around and stared at the fireplace. Mr Hudson had washed and scrubbed it for hours, it had been quite a scene. John had never heard her cursing that way. Magnussen had besmirched her house and her consulting detective, she had taken it personally. And she had made a fuss around Sherlock… as if the man had hurt Sherlock in some kind. Sherlock had ignored the whole thing, not a single word about it. The flat had smelled of disinfectant and cleaning agents for days… but to be honest, that was preferable to the smell of urine.

When he passed the table once more he spotted Mary's favourite mug, only half empty. He reached for it to take it away but then, with a grunt of frustration, he threw it at the wall, it impacted a foot left from the smiley. Spilled tea and shards ran down the wall and the lampshade in front of it. He stared at the wet spot for almost a minute….. and then sweared. He followed the mugs path to make sure the tea had not entered the multiple socket-outlet, but turned away immediately when realizing the liquid was nowhere near the thing … only to return running up and down the room.

The flat was a bit of a mess, his life was a total mess…. God, Sherlock was also a mess and it would get really straining as soon as his pain would get manageable…. and wean him of the morphine…. He stepped on some plastic. When he knelt down and reached for the sterile wrapping of the cannula dressing he felt the wall that kept his emotions encapsulated and at bay starting to crumple…. The fear to loose Sherlock… the shock about who Mary had been, and the sorrow about how everything had turned out flooding him with desperation.

He stared at the wrapping, a wave of emotions crushed over him and he pressed his right hand over his mouth to mute the silent hick-up of his agony and guilt.

A memory sprang into his mind… shortly after Sherlock's funeral…. he had fallen onto this carpet, having an almost violent meltdown…. The remembered feelings were the last straw…. his body started shaking. The remembered pain of Sherlock's loss mixed with the threat of losing of Mary. He would not sit here on the same spot and cry again. He made it up to his feet and tried to concentrate on something else. .. he headed for the bathroom to throw some water into his face, but when he crossed the kitchen he stopped.

He realized that all the minute changes that had been done in the kitchen after Sherlock had come back had been undone…. The coffee was back into it's old place, as was the microscope and the sugar and… the kitchen looked like … it used to be…. Sherlock's care once more overwhelmed him, it was so subtle and … also so huge…..

He was shaking, no way denying it, with anger, frustration, fear and sorrow … the whole situation was pressing down on him… he felt lost and it was crushing him down. He didn't make it into the bathroom, he slid down the wall between the kitchen and the bathroom door and started sobbing. It was no use in fighting the distress, he would only head into something worse if it piled up, so he let it go… just let it go, let the emotions run wild and get out for a minute… he surrendered.

….

When he finally managed to raise to his feet in middle of the night he realized he did not want to sleep in the room he had slept in with Mary…. he headed for the couch instead.

His mobile was on the coffee table in front of the sofa, he had placed it there before going up to his room. It blinked with a new message.  
_'Just text or call if you need something. __I know where you are right now. Whatever you need, don't hesitate. Lestrade'_

He lied back down on the sofa, spend. Was it worth to look for a blanket?

It was summer and not cold, but he was shivering… emotional stress, he diagnosed and sat up again, reaching for the blanket and spreading it over his legs… He let his head sank towards the arm-rest, but before he was able to relax his mobile beeped once more and he reached for it, his vision still blurred, he was barely able to read the screen.

'_thx_' Was the only thing in the message, he looked at the sender, it said, _SH_.

…

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….

_A/N: I would really like to know what you think. Constructive criticism needed!…. Please, please review!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Pain Management - Chapter 7**

_This is a collection of missing scenes from His Last Vow, SPOILERT ALERT! Don't read if you haven't seen the episode!_

_I am not a native speaker so my English might be a bit bumpy sometimes, apologies for that._

_Un-beta-ed for now._

_Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made._

_There was a lot of pain in that episode….. though the management was somehow missing. So here is another chapter of how they might have dealt with the pain, it's Sherlock's turn now to handle it._

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**Part 7 – Recovering**

It was the beginning of December and getting cold outside, though the winter seemed to be a mild one. Sherlock had been back in Baker-Street for about three weeks now. He still needed help with several things, which made him grumpy and unnerved on a regular basis. A physiotherapist visited him three times a week. Mycroft had managed to find someone who was enduring Sherlock's endless tries to resist every single exercise and being yelled at at least once per week. Stoically the man managed to go through the program unimpressed.

This evening John had tried to make Sherlock concentrate on relaxing and watching a film but Sherlock had not allowed himself to be distracted from the files. Finally John had realized it was no use, turned down the volume of the telly and tried to watch the film alone..

Sherlock had spread the papers, sheets and pictures all over the living room floor and he rounded them constantsly to look at them from different angles.

In order to jolly Sherlock along and keep him from destroying the house with nonsense experiments Mycroft and John had asked Lestrade to bring some cold case files over. Sherlock was only allowed to work at cases if he stayed in the flat, that were their conditions and Sherlock had agreed.

"Slow… too slow…" Sherlock murmured, he had stared at the chaotic floor for minutes in silence.

"Hm?" John looked away from the TV.

"Why is my brain so slow these days…. What is in the meds you make me take all day?" Sherlock was unnerved once more.

"Sherlock, we have been over this, repeatedly, there is nothing in there that is affecting your thinking! Your are recovering for god's sake, it is normal not to be on one's normal level."

"How do you know? I will analyse all the pills later with Molly."

John rolled his eyes and decided the only thing that would do both of them good was to look at the files with him.

Sherlock had made great progress in getting back to his former strenght since he had been back in the flat, it was doing him good to be at home.

Sherlock was a pain in the proverbial due to the still present constant pain, his inability to move and his frustration about the whole Magnussen thing. Still, they were both enjoying living there again together. Their daily routine had switched back to the way it had been for years. John was extremely glad he was not alone there at nights any longer. The empty flat just reminded him too much of the time after Sherlock's fall. He was suffering nightmares regularly but they had become less frequent since Sherlock was there, too. Life at the flat felt familiar and good. John had realized during the long nights alone there that the events of the past months were getting to him more than he wanted to admit. Some nights he didn't sleep at all and he had been seeing his therapist again several times in autumn. It was almost impossible to talk about the theme without unmasking Mary. Nobody except Lestrade, Mycroft and of course Magnussen knew she was the one who shot Sherlock and they had agreed it needed to stay that way. So John had to keep the major aspect of his problems hidden which made the sessions kind of useless.

Sherlock was not talking about his mental state of his own, sometimes though John saw small glimpses of distress. Sherlock was experiencing nightmares, too. John had seen and heard it in the hospital and back at home. He assumed that several of the emotions Sherlock had been faced with in the past months were absolutely new to him and he needed his time sorting them out and even find out what they were. There was one thing though that was spiking now, Sherlock seemed very protective of John. He had been already when they had reunited, though John had not realized it in the beginning. But now Sherlock seemed even anxious when John left his sight and followed him to where he went regularly, sometimes it was almost comical. It was worrying John a lot but he had decided to leave it until they were both better.

They were discussing the crime scene unfolded on the floor in detail now. Sherlock was comparing the outer circumstances and surroundings of the sites. Then he started unpacking the victim's photos, knelt down and added them into the collage.

The last victim was lying on the ground on paving stones, blood all over his face… he had been shot and John felt his blood run cold.

"Well, the victims have been beaten and then shot….." Sherlock elaborated.

The pattern of blood on the victim's face…. looked a bit like Sherlock after the fall, the wet black hair and the open eyes were adding… John blinked several times to get rid of the association. He blew out his breath slowly to ground himself…. His heartbeat was suddenly much to fast.

"Lestrade hinted that the incidents might…."

John stepped back and tried to calm down, this was either a panic attack or a trigger…

"… be connected to the apperance off… John?"

John had backed away slightly and turned towards the kitchen to hide his rising distress.

"Where are you going? What's happening, John?"

"I need to pee." Dammit! He was having trouble hiding his fast breathing, he knew he was about to be pathetic.

"John, I don't believe this is about a bathroom break." Sherlock informed.

"Don't…!" He was breathing through his teeth and feeling shaky now.

"John… Tell me what's happening…." Sherlock had stood up, too, and was following him now.

The doctor felt reality slip away… he entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He would not be able to stay on his feet much longer so he sat down next to the bathtub and leaned against it, not trusting his legs any longer.

Suddenly Sherlock was next to him and knelt down with a low grunt. Privacy was still a foreign word to Sherlock. John should have locked the door if he wanted him to stay out.

"John? You are having a panic attack…. " Sherlock was holding out his hands but didn't touch him.

"Go'way!" Was this a panic attack? The feeling of reality being torn away and him loosing his footing in it grew stronger…. He had had those episodes before, they came with PTSD. "I … need some space…." He panted.

"I will not leave you alone." Sherlock informed calmly. Cold fingers sneaked around his wrist. He tried to drew away but Sherlock was persistant and easily followed his movement. The touch grounded him and made reality feel a bit more real again.

"John… talk to me… tell me what is happening in your head, now!"

"She ….shhot you….. oh god… she shot you….." John sounded panicked and angry at once.

"She didn't want to kill me! I am here, I am fine. Calm down!"

John leaned back his head and closed his eyes. He was trembling and trying to get his breathing under control.

"You haven't had a panic attack in ages, why now?"

"Had them … in past three years. You'ere not there, remem'er?"

Sherlock frowned, he tended to forget the time of his hiatus had been far worse on John than he had expected. He needed to soften the impact, he had failed to do that before, so he needed to do it better now.

"This will past, just breathe slowly."

"Don't….. I know how this works. Just get out."

"Getting out would probably qualify as rude… and also would be careless, so I will not really consider that." Sherlock fetched a large clean towel and made a loose roll, then worked it in between John's neck and the bathtub. "Concentrate on listening to my breathing …. an mimic it, please." Sherlock tried to assist. "You want to lie down?"

John shook his head. He knew it would fuel his panic.

"What do you need?"

John had never imagined Sherlock could ask this question. But he didn't know what he needed right now… and he knew Sherlock had changed a lot… so maybe ….

Sherlock took his left hand and to his surprise lifted it to his throat and placed it against it.

"John… feel my pulse and know that I am alive….I'm fine…." He held John's hand against his neck and John was indeed able to feel the heartbeat in the blood vessel.

"Concentrate… John!"

"You were dead!…. You looked like…. that picture…. after the fall. …. And she… she tried to kill you again… How could _she_ do that!" John panted.

"John, I am so sorry I made you watch me playing dead…. And Mary tried to safe us all!"

"No…. How could…. she do that…"

"I am fine, John. Slow down your breathing."

"She…. almost killed you, your heart …. stopped…. "

"And I decided to come back to you."

"What?…. are you telling me … you had a… a near-death-experience?"

"I was in my mind palace…. and I decided I need to be back with you." Sherlock explained.

"God…." John's breathing was becoming faster again, he took his hand back and rubbed his eyes.

"This is nothing to be stressed out about…. In fact it was meant to be reassuring."

"I tried…. I tried to talk to… to you about how it affects you to have been shot…. and you were all… closed up and now… now you jump out of the box … like that… and…. " John slowly blinked, it was harder to breathe. "I know what it feels like to be shot…. I ….. being this near death is….. " John realized he was fighting tears now. Sherlock felt for his pulse again and looked into John's eyes. He maintained physical contact.

"I am sorry. I will not mention it again."

"No… that's not what I meant… I mean I want to… maybe I even need to know such stuff….. but this was just not the right timing… okay?…. I understand why you said it … at that moment, though…. Thank you… thank you for not… being dead." His voice broke and he clenched his teeth to calm his emotions and keep them inside.

"Yes, timing…. I will answer your questions concerning that matter later if you want to ask."

John fought to slow down his breathing rate and raised his eyebrows, kind of thrown off guard about the turns of events of the past two minutes. Sherlock stood up and went to the kitchen. He fetched a plastic mug, put two teaspoons of sugar into it and then filled it with water. Stirring he came back to the bathroom and knelt down in front of John again, who had managed to regain a bit of his composure.

"Drink. It's water with sugar."

John wrinkled his nose but took the mug with still trembling hands. He stared at it, his breathing had calmed down a bit. Sherlock had changed so much, or was he just thrown out of line with all the events? His caring side was something not totally new but John was still overrun with it. The speech Sherlock had done on his wedding was… it was extraordinary on all levels one could examine it…. and it showed a whole new side of Sherlock, John was still not fully understanding.

John looked up into Sherlock's eyes, he was eyeing him intensely.

"Thank you." He sipped the liquid carefully, not wanting to get sick.

Sherlock stood up again and vanished once more. Sherlock was so full of surprises, it still amazed him on a regular basis. This was one of the best things about Sherlock…. When his friend returned he had a fleece blanket under his arm and two pillows under the other.

"What are you doing?"

"I am not in shape to help you up or to keep you from falling when walking and getting dizzy, so we will stay here for some more time. You are cold."

"So we are camping in the bathroom?"

"I will make some tea." Sherlock put the stuff down besides him and vanished again. John could hear him filling the kettle. Sherlock was right. He was shaky and his blood pressure was probably pretty low if how he felt was any indication. He fetched a pillow and placed it in his back, then took the blanket over his legs. Now, he felt exhausted and somehow wounded. He tried to sort out his emotions and the news and …. He knew he was staring at the wall but he didn't care. Several minutes later Sherlock came back in with two steaming mugs. He sat down next to John so they were shoulder to shoulder, handing over one mug. John took it gratefully.

"I'm sorry… I am still so angry with her."

"I know, nothing to be sorry for. I heard somewhere that this is what friends are for." Sherlock informed in his no-nonsense way.

John chuckled. "I am really glad you are here with me. Thank you."

Sherlock stared at the wall, John guessed he still didn't know what do to with a compliment other than store the information away…. until…

"You're welcome."

John raised his eyebrows and then chuckled once more.

They talked that night, on the floor. About things that needed to be explained and clarified and thought through… It was emotionally straining but it was healing, for both sides. Although Sherlock might negate that he needed emotional healing at all if he would have been asked later.

The End

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_A/N:_

_Hope you liked it. I would really like to know what you think. Constructive criticism needed!…. _

_Please, please review!_


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